


Token of Remembrance

by Destina



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Early Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-10-12
Updated: 1999-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan faces the prospect of his own death, and wonders how he will be remembered by his master.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Token of Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to the MA list sometime in 1999.

Obi-Wan suspected he was dying, but there was no way to be sure without calling attention to his weakness. To speak of his plight would most likely mean death for them all. His master would not leave him to perish alone, and would either try to carry him out, or remain with him while sending the others ahead. Without Qui-Gon, the rest of the party would die as well - there was no question about that, but his master was not so tied to his duty that he would abandon his responsibility to his padawan. 

It was a predicament he had long imagined, but never faced with certainty. Some part of him had always believed that there would be a path revealed in the last seconds, courtesy of the Force, or his master's ingenuity and insight. It had been that way thus far, even in hopeless situations. He had been ready to face death many times in his five years with Qui-Gon. He was prepared to become one with the Force, but it had never come down to inevitability. Even on Bandomeer, when he had known his death was moments away as they stood together in the mines, Qui-Gon's belief had saved him. 

Some problems had no easy solution. He was experienced enough to recognize that simple fact, and he let it occupy his thoughts as he trudged slowly through the snow. He would walk until he dropped, and then he would embrace the Force with dignity. Once he was gone, Qui-Gon would not be tempted to sacrifice himself. There was no other choice. 

The visor and mufflers wrapped around his face stifled the flow of air into his nostrils, making it difficult to breathe. He moved across Hoth's frigid snows in the footprints left by his master, staring into each deep hole as if nothing else existed. Ice clung to the cloth across his mouth and nose, the moisture from each exhalation frozen into crystalline structures that scratched his face and choked him. 

With every step, the stabbing pains in his left leg became sharper, and he quickly found his entire being was focused on those shards of pain. He catalogued them, defining and ranking them, consigning them to the fringes of consciousness. He focused on his steps, on the once-simple act of lifting a leg and setting it down. 

The glare from the shiny surface of glittering ice had already caused one case of snow blindness. Obi-Wan was perversely grateful for the heavy clouds and falling snow, which kept the rest of them from losing their sight as they walked. 

Hoth was one of the least hospitable planets in the galaxy, and the worst place for a diplomatic ship to plummet out of orbit while under attack. Two Senators lived through the fiery crash, cowering and shivering, hiding from pirates concealed in ice caves nearby. It was not an assignment Qui-Gon had wanted, but they were obligated to follow orders, and so they had come to lead the survivors out. 

Obi-Wan was so cold that he hadn't even felt the burn of the blaster bolt as it cut through his trousers, sinking deep into muscle, nicking bone and creating a wound that would never heal without treatment. He fought beside his master, pushing away the pain that gnawed at him through deep layers of blackened tissue and raw nerve. 

Once, he faltered, and Qui-Gon set him back on his feet, reaching for him out of habit to check for injuries. Obi-Wan brushed the hands away, impatient, muttering hasty words about moving in daylight and freezing to death. For once, Qui-Gon let it go, only because of the urgency of their plight. 

He was conscious of that now, grateful for his luck even as he was focused on locking away his pain. 

Steps blurred into horrifying sameness as he moved without thought. Step, exhale. Struggle to lift the leg. Drag it through snow, each bit of pressure a hot knife against his flesh. Lower his weight onto the offending limb gingerly, inhale a hissing gulp of air. And so on, until the monotony of pain was white before his eyes, colder than the air, larger than the universe. 

Time had no relevance. There was only the act of lurching forward by will alone. 

So programmed was he that he never saw the gray bulk of the ship ahead, or the shape that loomed in front of him in the roaring wind. He impacted a solid wall, and when it spoke his name, the sound was lost to the wind. He pushed, but the limit of endurance had been reached. 

Slowly, he sank down into soft, swirling whiteness, and he floated, lifted above the cold by a sheltering strength too powerful to be denied. 

**********

 

"Master, how will you remember me when I am gone?" The question came from nowhere, and shattered the calm silence of meditation. 

Startled, Qui-Gon twisted on his knees to look at his padawan, who was looking over the edge of the bed, watching him. "Why would you ask me such a question, Obi-Wan?" A small beat of fear fluttered in his heart, like something trapped and panicked. 

The young man hesitated as he slowly turned his head away, unable to speak. 

Qui-Gon saw something unfamiliar in those eyes as they ran from his scrutiny - a haunted sense of mortality, kindled with bright shreds of fear. "You speak of this as though you expect to leave me, Padawan." In a gentle voice, he reassured, "Your wound is healing well. In a few days, you will be strong enough to walk again." 

"This mission was so difficult, and I felt...I didn't think I would be able to keep pace, Master. When I fell behind, I thought you would have to leave me, and I knew I would die. I wasn't afraid, but I wondered if you would think fondly of me, after-" Obi-Wan stopped, the words choked off by emotions he could not contain. "I wondered if you would take another padawan, if you would think of me with pride." 

Qui-Gon tried to keep the look of surprise from his face as he struggled to answer the earnest question. "I will never take another padawan," he said quietly, getting to his feet on the meditation mat. The edge of the bed gave way beneath him as he settled beside Obi-Wan. "What you did was incredibly foolish, but it is a measure of the man you have become that you could accomplish it. You will be a great Jedi, Obi-Wan, and you will live for many years when I am gone." 

"But if I died, Master." The question was persistent, and Obi-Wan moved again, catching his master's indigo gaze. The soft green of his eyes glowed with need. "What then?" 

"I would grieve for you, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon lifted one strong hand and pressed it between his own, stroking the long fingers. "And I would think of your grace, and your stubbornness, and your impulsiveness. I would mourn all that which makes you unique in this life." 

Obi-Wan held his gaze steadily. "And what would you feel?" he asked. 

Qui-Gon felt the quick beat of a heart beneath his fingertips, and circled the wrist where that rhythm pulsed. "I would feel...regret, for what cannot be said, but must be understood. And great pain, Obi-Wan." 

Obi-Wan reached up and touched the corner of Qui-Gon's mouth, and Qui-Gon's breath caught in his throat. Almost absently, that errant hand dropped back to Obi-Wan's lips, fingertips ghosting across them before resting against the sheet. 

Qui-Gon followed that invisible path, bending until his lips reached the parted lips of his padawan. He pushed them open, tasting the sweetness of denial, of forbidden truth, sharing his own relief and gratitude, and other things he would not ever speak aloud. Press of softness, retreat, offering of a gentle tongue which explored and soothed before retreating. 

The Jedi master raised his head, seeking the expression on Obi-Wan's face, memorizing the love and fierce loyalty there. It was too intense a look to be borne for long, and Obi-Wan turned his face, burying it in the satin mane of hair spilling across his chest. 

Softly, then, only a whisper. "This is how I will remember you, my padawan."


End file.
